Antics
by nlizzette7
Summary: If you scorn a Bass, things are bound to go up in flames. You know what they say. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. One-shot. Post-finale. [for adila]


**Author's Note: **This was written for the lovely adila, who requested this story from me on Tumblr. Sorry it's so late - I have two more on the list for the upcoming weeks. If you want to make a request, follow the link on my author profile. Hit "request a story" if you have a Tumblr account. If not, leave an anonymous question.

* * *

"You first."

"No, you."

"And if I touch you _there_?"

"_Bass _– "

Because they were far off from the days of signature scarves and high school scandals, their battles existed in the bedroom, the sheets torn up under their fingers as proof of destruction, plum bruises and mean scratches tainting their skin like battle wounds. It was a push and a pull, two selfishly selfless lovers combatting with thrusts and moans – fighting to see who would come apart first. As if you could expect anything less from Chuck and Blair.

"Are you close?"

"Are _you_?"

"Stop it, Blair."

She was just about to forfeit, or maybe _he _was throwing in his surrender, when there was a loud knock on their bedroom door, forcing the game to come to a sharp, unsatisfying end. Blair darted up in bed, and Chuck dipped his head into the damp curve of her shoulder. They waited for a moment before Blair yelled out an exasperated, "_What_?"

"Mommy? Daddy?" Henry's voice was muffled and small through the door. Chuck and Blair shot each other a look. They had both detached themselves from their phones, locking themselves away for a day of mindless chatter and mind-numbing sex, all whilst playing hooky.

"He's supposed to be at school," Blair hissed.

"Cutting already?" Chuck smirked. "He really is my son."

"He's in the _third grade_," Blair spat. She shoved a disgruntled Chuck over and wrapped a robe around herself. Chuck mumbled something about children and _never having sex again_ under his breath. Blair shut him up with a pinch to his arm, and Chuck fought back with a light pat on the curve of her bottom.

"_Stop_," Blair warned. Chuck raised his eyebrows and threw his arms up in faux innocence. Blair pulled open the door to find a dejected little boy, decked out in a crisp navy uniform – a small purple scarf draped around his neck. Blair ran her fingers through Henry's floppy hair, a miniature version of his father circa 2007. Henry let out a long sigh before dropping his school bag on the ground and digging his face into his mother's side.

"What is it, Henry?" Chuck said, his voice dropping to a kind murmur. Blair frowned, guiding Henry to the foot of their bed, Chuck shrugging on his own stark black robe.

"Dorota came and got me," Henry sniffed, his eyes on the floor. "The principal sent me home." Blair, already considering the earliest that the Ivy Leagues would trace her son's records back to, spewed out a small gasp. Chuck simply leaned back and grinned, taking this as further proof that the boy was his.

"Why would she do that?" Blair demanded.

"I called this boy a – " Henry leaned forward, pressing his clammy hands to his parents' cheeks and drawing them in closer, whispering a _colorful _word into their ears. Chuck let out a sharp laugh, throwing his head back as Blair pulled away, slapping at her husband's chest.

"That's not funny, Chuck," Blair hissed. She held her son's chin, tilting his head up. "Henry, that is a _very _bad word. Where did you learn that?"

"Well, Daddy said it when he was watching the stocks on TV," Henry murmured. Blair's cheeks flared in anger, silently scolding her husband before Henry continued. "And you said it when you were bossing around those sewing people, Mommy." Blair's frown slipped as Chuck stuck his tongue out at her, childish as always.

"Well, you're not to repeat it, Henry," Chuck drawled, patting his son on the back. "Unless you want to send your mother into cardiac arrest." He paused, ruffling his son's hair. "Why did you use that word, anyway?"

"Robert Callahan said my scarf was stupid," Henry pouted, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. Blair rolled her eyes, murmuring a soft "_here we go" _before casting a weary glance in Chuck's direction.

A very infuriated Chuck, that is.

"It's a _signature_," Chuck scoffed, getting to his feet. "Does that little Callahan prick understand that it's a limited edition Armani, 400 thread count? It probably costs more than his father's pathetic excuse for a bar."

"Jesus, Chuck," Blair sighed. "_Language_."

"Listen very carefully, Henry," Chuck said, kneeling in front of his son. "We're Bass men. Scarves are our trademark. You don't listen to annoying little ass – "

"_Chuck_."

"You don't answer to Robert Callahan, or anyone else," Chuck amended. "And we don't associate with people who live on the cusp of midtown. They wouldn't know class if it hit them right in the face."

Henry nodded, his spirits clearly lifted as his father squeezed his shoulder. As Chuck spoke, Blair sat pensively, bearing an expression that he had come to know very well. Blair Bass pre-scheme was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

"The Callahans, you say?" Blair asked, narrowing her eyes. "Ellen and Everett went to school with us. Didn't they, Chuck?"

Chuck grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe it's time for a little high school reunion."

Henry glanced between them with a small frown on his face. "Are you and Mommy going to play spy like you always do?"

Blair and Chuck exchanged a look. "Something like that."

:::

"I told you to massage _lightly_," Blair hissed at the nail artist in front of her. The poor woman jumped at Blair's icy tone, gently working Blair's palms with the pads of her thumbs. "Your incompetence is unbelievable." The woman murmured a soft strew of apologies as Blair let out an impatient breath. It was then that the door to the salon burst open, a frail sandy blonde walking through it. Blair eyed the woman's tacky orange Hermes and blaringly golden highlights.

"That's enough for today," Blair said, yanking her hands away. The woman took a seat across the room, and Blair was quick to follow, sitting beside her on one of the plush waiting couches. She waited a moment before turning to the woman. "Ellen Callahan. I thought I recognized you when you walked in."

"Blair Waldorf," the woman chirped with a toothy grin. "You look fabulous. The last time we spoke, you were ruling the halls of Constance."

"And now I'm ruling the entirety of Manhattan," Blair retorted, clasping her hands together. Ellen swallowed, cocking her head to the side. Blair pursed her lips, her stare hardening as she continued. "It seems as if though your son has been bothering mine."

"Oh?" Ellen's eyes widened. "I had no idea. You know what they say, boys will be boys."

"No," Blair corrected, drumming her nails atop the screen of her phone. "They say that a child's indiscretions are a direct product of the parents who raised them." Blair leaned forward, a smile tugging at her lips. "Do you remember what happened to _you _when you decided to grace my steps with your kilt-clad behind sophomore year?"

"You – "

"I issued a verbal and very_ public _slap down. It took you three months to recover from your fifteen minutes of Gossip Girl infamy."

Ellen shook her head. "Are you…threatening me?"

Blair smiled, lifting her bag onto her shoulder. "Threat? That's such an ugly word. I prefer to call it a warning." Blair stood up, glancing down at Ellen before spinning on her heel. "Please do remember to give your son a little lesson on the hierarchy here in Manhattan. Henry is just as much a Waldorf as he is a Bass."

:::

"Daddy, what are we doing?"

"Quiet, Henry."

Chuck narrowed his eyes, ducking lower beside the tinted window of his limousine. Henry followed suit, leaning against his father's arm. The two were dressed identically, Henry as a junior-sized version of his father in an all-black suit and tie. The two were huddled in the backseat, parked on the Callahans' street in Midtown. Henry kicked his feet against the seat, his eyes trained on the building front outside.

"We're going to learn some new vocabulary words today, Henry," Chuck drawled, nudging his son's arm. "This here is called a stakeout."

"A stakeout," Henry repeated, circling his hands over his eyes as an imaginary set of binoculars. Chuck grinned, making the same gesture as they watched. Fifteen minutes later, a man surfaced from the apartment building, tucking in his shirt as another man followed behind. There had always been rumors of Everett Callahan's taste for male escorts, and this was beyond convenient.

"And that," Chuck said, pulling his phone from the pocket of his suit. "Is our target."

"Target," Henry repeated, the binoculars becoming an invisible laser gun. Henry shot it at the air with a mischievous smile. Beside him, Chuck snapped the picture, and then another for good measure. He showed the picture to Henry, who shot him a thumbs-up. Chuck grinned before forwarding the picture to Everett Callahan himself.

Chuck slung an arm around Henry, calling for Arthur to drive. "And that was an art I'm particularly fond of partaking in."

"What's it called, Dad?"

Chuck smirked. "Blackmail."

:::

It was a week later, and The Basses found themselves in the halls of Prescott Elementary School. Blair turned the corner to find her husband making his way down the other end of the corridor. She frowned before meeting him halfway, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"What are you doing here?"

Chuck lifted his phone. "There seems to be some sort of issue. The principal called me in."

"The principal called _me _in," Blair frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. Chuck rolled his eyes, placing a guiding hand at the small of her back. He led her to the principal's office, knocking once before they were let inside. Blair felt a tug at her chest as they sat across from the stern old woman, forcing herself to remember that this wasn't high school – that she wasn't some junior vying for a seat at Yale. As if he could read her mind, Chuck reached over to massage the nape of her neck.

"Thank you for meeting me today, Mr. and Mrs. Bass."

"Is Henry alright?" Blair asked.

"He's perfectly fine," the principal sighed. "The problem we have on our hands is not due to Henry."

"Oh?"

"It's _you_ two," the principal scolded. "We've been receiving numerous complaints from parents on the PTA. Henry and two of his friends – he calls them _minions _– have decided to launch somewhat of a dictatorship in the third grade class. He's taken it upon himself to rule over the rest of his students, naming himself the prince, and deigning the rest peasants. When asked about where he got all of these ideas, he proudly told me that his mother is a queen and that his father uses blackmail and other dirty tactics to get to the top." The principal sat back, waiting for her words to resonate with the well-matched couple in front of her.

Chuck simply blinked, frowning in confusion. "I'm not sure I see what the problem is."

"Mr. Bass – "

"Are you punishing our son because of his quick rise to popularity?" Blair sighed, linking her arm through her husband's. "Henry can't help it if he's a natural born leader."

"He's Henry _Bass_," Chuck continued. "Of course he would be followed. Those kids are smart to stand behind him." He sighed, helping Blair up as he shook his head at the principal. "Mrs. Bass and I are _the _most successful couple in Manhattan. It's offensive that you wasted our time with your feeble attempt to reprimand our son for following in our footsteps."

"I – "

"Such a same," Blair added. "Some simply aren't well-suited to lead."

"You're not – "

"Are we done here?" Chuck asked. The principal simply nodded, dumbfounded by the way the couple gravitated around each other. It sounded as if the two were reading from some sort of script. Chuck and Blair left the office arm in arm, the click of Blair's heels sounding throughout the empty hallway. Just as they were about to leave, Blair stopped him with a hand on his chest, a grin on her face. She led him over to the last classroom in the hall.

"Chuck, look," Blair whispered. Chuck followed her gaze to Henry's third grade classroom. The students were working in groups, and Henry was at the center of his table, donning his father's signature smirk as the rest of his peers hung on his every word. His scarf was slung around his neck, and everyone else wore a knockoff of the same accessory, boys donning plaid Lacostes and girls with lilac Hermes'.

It almost resembled a miniature army, and their son was at the head of it all.

"He's even better than we were," Chuck smirked, shaking his head in awe.

"Of course," Blair murmured. "You and I – we're invincible. I can only imagine that our son will take over the world." Chuck nodded in assent, slipping his fingers through hers. He led her down the steps outside, pulling her into the backseat of his limo. But instead of asking Arthur to make a stop at the headquarters of Waldorf Designs, he requested that he drive them home.

"Where are we going?"

"We're finishing what we started," Chuck murmured, sliding his hand to the crook of her knee. Blair gasped as his fingers slid across the skin there. "Before our day was interrupted, there was a game I was about to win." His lips descended on hers then, tugging her bottom lips between his teeth. "And I fully intend on claiming my prize."

_Fin._


End file.
